


candlelight

by Fiselis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rating May Change, Sharing a Bed, but very VERY minor. blink and you'll miss it, here are the tags for part 2:, they have me fucked up in particular man idk what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiselis/pseuds/Fiselis
Summary: Pressure from war, the weight of the dead resting on heavy shoulders, it was only a short amount of time before they were going to crumble.Of course, now that they were together, such things were easier. Helping each other to ease said burdens, bringing about change in their lifestyles. Hope, everlasting hope as they pushed their forces to a better, brighter future. Dreams that, when fed the wick of a candle, burned bright in even the darkest of moments.But, of course, that wick must run out eventually.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	1. flicker

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't sleep one night and then i was like *uses claude as my punching bag* if i can't sleep neither can you
> 
> also i've noticed a huge lack in fics where claude gets comforted after nightmares or just in general, so i wanted to contribute :3 
> 
> enjoy!!

Candlelight filled the room with warm, golden light. The shadows cast by the flickering flame danced across the walls, disappearing into the darkest corners of the room. They felt alive, each with their own personality and charm.

Dimitri saw faces in every one of them. 

Faces of the dead, specifically. Their dances shifted to something cruel, like they were trying to reach out to him and grab at his throat with amorphous claws. He could see their faces contort in agony, then unbridled rage as they scrambled over to his waiting presence. 

He hadn’t realized he had made a noise at the back of his throat, making his once-silent battle go noticed by the other in the room. 

“Just a few more minutes, Mitya,” Claude murmured, not looking up from his papers. Letters and blank parchment had begun to pile at the Duke’s desk, dangerously close to the only light source in the room. For a moment, Dimitri longed to see those papers burn, followed by the entire room, himself included. Then those shadows would leave him alone, and he would be free of his torment. 

But that would mean Claude was certain to join him in that freedom, and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Dimitri shifted on the bed, scouring Claude’s face to read his unreadable expression. It was an obsession of his that had begun the moment they met five years ago, only now it had shifted to something truly meaningful. Most of the time, it was Claude who was more successful in hiding his thoughts and feelings. However, as time went by and their bond grew deeper, Dimitri was steadily getting more and more adept at catching those tiny flashes of Claude’s truth. He desperately wanted to pick him apart, cutting away at his charming facade to see the genuine version of the man he loved. 

Here, in the quiet of their shared bedroom, that facade would slowly begin to fracture, bits and pieces of his truth cultivating a new sort of hunger found in the depths of Dimitri’s heart. A hunger that, left untamed, would surely devour him until there was nothing left. 

Dimitri could see just how exhausted the Duke was. It was obvious based on the appearance of the purple bags under his eyes, but Dimitri knew it was deeper than that. The slight sag of his shoulders when no one was looking, the slightest twitch at the corners of his mouth that threatened the existence of Claude’s smile, the smile that did everything in its power to hide the frown concealed beneath. Each of these added up to Claude’s truth, though none were quite as telling as his eyes. 

Dimitri wasn’t afraid of much, not anymore. But there was something about the growing coldness in Claude’s eyes that terrified him. He watched the light of his youth die slowly in those green eyes, the mischievous sparkle he had grown to both fear and adore fading to a blankness that hurt more than he would’ve liked. 

He saw it, the momentary flicker of weariness in Claude’s gaze as he signed one last letter, waiting for the ink to dry before adding it to the growing pile. Claude rubbed at his eyes, sighing for a moment as he took a break. He was too lost in thought to notice Dimitri letting out a loud huff, trying to get Claude’s attention. 

When it didn’t work, he repeated himself a bit louder, but to no avail. Such a thing deepened the frown on his face, his mood souring slightly. 

“Pouting like that won’t make me work any faster, you know,” Claude said, his voice lofty. He finally,  _ finally _ looked at Dimitri, giving him a small smile. Not the usual one, no, this was real. Tender, he could even argue.

“Won’t it?” Dimitri murmured, letting his head fall to one of the pillows. “The rest can wait for the morning. You need to rest.”

“Says you,” Claude cooed, turning his attention back to the papers. “You have no right saying that, with your own sleep problems, you know.”   
  
Dimitri grumbled, flipping over on the bed so his back was to Claude. A pointed gesture, he was sure, but that was the intention. Claude, as always, could read him like a book. 

“Someone seems grumpy tonight,” Dimitri could still hear the scratch of a quill against paper, meaning Claude’s full attention was still not on him. He didn’t want to be second to a measly stack of papers. He’d sooner tear them to shreds and burn the pieces until nothing but ash was left.

It was stupid, he knew it, to be jealous over something as simple as a letter. Of  _ course _ he was grumpy. He was tired, it was late, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without Claude beside him. He was like a ward against the darkest thoughts and memories in Dimitri’s mind. Just like the candle, it’s light began to dim as the flame dipped into the wax. The thought of such a light going out was enough to fill Dimitri with icy trepidation. 

Dimitri sighed, flipping over once more to look at Claude. He shuffled out of the bed, dragging the blanket with him as if it were his cloak. He towered over Claude, looking over his head at the papers on his desk, not saying a word. He reached down, his chin just barely brushing over Claude’s messy curls, and pushed the papers away from Claude. 

Claude sighed, tilting his head back to look up at him. He gave him a rather jaded smile, his eyes a dull green. 

“Alright, alright,” Claude covered his mouth to hide the small yawn that escaped his lips. “You win.”

Dimitri leaned down to press a careful kiss on Claude’s forehead, bringing his hands to cradle Claude’s face. The touch was gentle, as if he were afraid of Claude breaking under his fingertips, a fear he was all too familiar with. He didn’t pull away when he spoke, his lips still pressed against Claude as they moved. 

“It’s not about winning,” He murmured, closing his eye. “You’re exhausted, and you need rest.”

Claude rolled his eyes, pulling himself away so he could stand and stretch. “You say that, but I know you just want a kiss goodnight.”   
  
“Well,” Dimitri refused to look at the cheeky expression he was  _ positive _ Claude was wearing. His face felt a bit warm, suddenly flustered. “That may have some truth, I suppose.”   
  


Pulling the blanket around him tighter, as if to hide himself from Claude’s piercing gaze, Dimitri moved back towards the bed. He sat down on the very edge, patiently waiting for Claude to join him. Claude looked once between Dimitri and his desk, a slight frown on his face as he lost himself in his thoughts. Dimitri let out a soft “ _ ahem _ ”, bringing him back to the present.

Claude blinked, glancing back at the bed. He sighed lightly, running a hand through his hair. The slightest sag of his shoulders showed his defeat, a silent victory to be added to Dimitri’s books. Maybe it was about winning, after all.

As he pulled off his shirt, Claude’s mind continued to think over each and every one of the letters. Promises from nobility he sought to keep, officers in desperate need of supplies, the dwindling amount of resources thanks to the war. He may have been called a master schemer, but even this wore him out. It took all he could to not simply disappear into the ranks of the commoners, living out the rest of his days as someone he was not.

As if he wasn’t doing that already. He laughed quietly to himself, just under his breath, barely loud enough for Dimitri to hear. 

“Why are you laughing?” Dimitri’s voice was gruff, he was getting impatient. 

The Duke gave him a tired smile. “What, is that a new rule? Am I not allowed to laugh?”

A heavy sigh left Dimitri’s lips. He climbed into the bed, turning his back to Claude once again. “No, not until you are in this bed. Then you can laugh to your heart’s content.”

“You’re no fun, Dima,” Claude muttered, following him into the bed and pulling the covers up to his waist. He sat up, leaning against the headboard, and pulled a book out from the drawers of his bedside table. 

Dimitri turned to look at him, scowling at the book in his hands. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Claude flipped a page, tutting under his breath. “I think your words were ‘come to bed’ actually, and I did just as you asked.”

A loud sigh of annoyance escaped Dimitri, but he knew this was just Claude’s teasing. That meant he must be feeling a bit more at ease, despite the fact he continued to work, even in bed. He slumped forward, letting his head rest in Claude’s lap, looking between him and the book. Claude let out a surprised noise as he raised his hands slightly to give him access, then hummed a small greeting. 

He shifted so that he held his book in one hand, bringing the other to run through Dimitri’s hair absentmindedly, his eyes running over the words of the page. Dimitri closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a contented sigh. He nearly fell asleep under Claude’s warm touch, feeling soothed by his presence. Claude chased away his nightly terrors just as the flame of the candle burned away the darkness.

Claude was his candle. 

Humming softly, Claude gently raked his nails across Dimitri’s scalp, eliciting a pleased noise from Dimitri’s throat. Claude chuckled softly, patting his cheek. “C’mon, wake up. I can’t lie down if you’re in my lap like this.”

Dimitri turned, nuzzling his face into Claude’s stomach. “No. I’m comfortable.”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep,” Claude gently started to push Dimitri’s head off his lap, drawing out another grumpy growl. “But look at you now, such a hypocrite.”

Dimitri groaned, pulling himself off of Claude. He reached over to extinguish the candle before scooting downwards. Claude pulled the sheets up to his shoulders and tucked himself in. Pressed back to back, basking in the comforts of one another, the two were finally able to chase their dreams and fall into a quiet slumber. 

—

The sounds of arrows whizzing past, the battle cries that filled the battle ground, every noise felt amplified here. Claude’s wyvern beat its wings in tune with the rhythm of war. Like a drum, it pounded a certain sense of vigor throughout the allies that surrounded it. 

But this was not a battle like the history books. 

Claude watched his soldiers be shot down by flaming arrows and spells. Watched them be cut down by their ankles in close combat with enemy swordsmen. Watched them be skewered by lances and left to bleed out painfully slow.

All he could do was watch. 

Lost in the raging battle, Claude didn’t even notice the fireball hurled in his direction. His wyvern acted instinctively, ducking out of the way just in time to avoid singeing his hair off. 

Claude turned his head sharply in the direction it had come from. The mage wasn’t hard to spot, their black robes sticking out amongst the crowd. Claude was not the type to unleash a battle cry, as death was not something he felt deserved to be empowered. 

With a swift movement, Claude kicked off the saddle of his wyvern, time seemingly slowing down as he drew his bow. He lined up his target with the top of the arrow, his razor sharp focus causing the battle to dull into a rumbling murmur at the back of his mind. 

Claude didn’t even realize he let the arrow slip until he saw it protruding from the mage’s chest. Time sped up and returned to normal, Claude just managing to roll into his fall from the sky. 

Being on the ground, it was harder to see how they were faring. However, by the looks of it, it wasn’t good. 

He could hardly see his own soldiers around him, just dust and corpses and the rush of enemies as they spanned across the field. For a moment, he was alone. 

The thought terrified him, for once. 

He couldn’t see his friends, not Hilda, or Marianne, or Ignatz, none of his classmates. He couldn’t see his other allies who had joined him either, or the more distinguished Knights of Seiros. He was  _ used _ to being alone, but this was not the isolation he had built for himself. This was out of his control. 

He was terrified. 

Desperate, he drew his axe, rushing towards the horde of enemies that separated him from his wyvern. She was the only one left, he could hear her crying out for her rider as arrows threatened to shoot her down. He could just barely see her white wings flapping desperately, but her stubbornness was futile. Ropes with heavy weights were thrown over her, and she was dragged down to the mob. 

One loud roar broke out across the field, and then silence. 

Claude felt something swell in his chest that he very rarely felt. Anger, frustration, and white hot rage melding together until it had him swinging his axe with reckless abandon. Blood and gore painted his clothes and skin, leaving him dripping in the mess. As his axe brought down the limp body of another nameless soldier, Claude felt something stir in his chest. Disgust, adrenaline, he wasn’t sure, but he pushed forward, feeling his blade cleave through flesh and bone with every step forward.

Enemies blurred together, cutting through them like a blade to grass. They dropped at his heels, gripping at his ankles in a desperate display of vengeance. Claude kicked them away, standing amidst the circle of bodies in grim victory. 

He saw them, then. His friends, amongst the corpses. Pink, orange, blue, he saw everyone. Stained with red and lifeless, their still bodies reminded him of exactly where he was. Exactly  _ who _ was responsible.

This war that he led, asking his own friends to fight for his greedy cause. He was a selfish fool, and he brought them to their end.

For a moment, he was quiet. Then, laughter bubbled in the pit of his chest, escaping until it had exploded in maniacal hysterics. He gripped at his stomach as he doubled over, wiping the tears that threatened the corners of his eyes. 

His chest tight, he slowly stood straighter. His eyes locked on the only thing they could. A blue streak, charging towards him with little care of other enemies. 

Claude knew this would be his end.

Dimitri had no sense of recognition in his expression as he staggered towards Claude. The Duke’s grip on his axe loosened, letting it clatter to the ground in wordless defeat.

If he had to die, being impaled by Areadbhar was the highest honor. Getting to see her wielder up close was another thing Claude hadn't expected. That, perhaps, was the reason he was in this situation in the first place. His schemes had brought him to this point, speared on the weapon of the man who made him question his desires. Had he truly wanted to be a king? Was he suited to leadership? Or was he better off dying as a beacon of falsehoods and broken promises, to rot on the battlefield he had led so many to die upon?

Blood blossomed like a crimson flower germinating from his chest, its petals spreading outwards across his clothes. He couldn’t breathe anymore, he  _ wasn’t  _ breathing anymore. He was cold, limbs limp at his sides, eyes looking up at the heavens for a goddess he did not worship. He saw nothing as he did so, his vision having gone entirely black. Alone, he died, embraced in the cold touch of death until a last tear had shed. 

Alone, he always had been. Alone, he always will be. 

His eyes snapped open, the world still dark around him. He was holding his breath, but he was able to breathe. Ragged and shaky, he exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip on his surroundings. Always calculating, always reading, Claude’s mind worked tirelessly. 

He was in his room, it had just been another nightmare. He should've known the exhaustion would get to him at some point, he just wished it hadn’t been so soon. 

There was movement behind him, someone pressing close to his back. Claude froze, waiting for them to move once again. Another assassination attempt, most likely. He couldn’t deny such a thing had become an incessant problem during his time as leader of the Alliance, but his mind couldn’t comprehend it happening in the moment. Still rushing with adrenaline from his nightmare, Claude did what he had been prepared to do. He reached a hand under his pillow, painfully slow so as not to disturb or alert the other. 

It was gone. 

Claude felt numbing dread trickle down his spine at the absence of his dagger, alighting every individual nerve with the threat of danger. Had he not woken up in a state of panic from his nightmare, he would’ve gone about the situation a bit more smoothly. At least, that’s what he would’ve wished for. 

Before he could move, an arm wrapped around him, pulling him flushed against the bare chest of his companion. His heart thrummed in distress, his body beginning to shake uncontrollably. A gesture of comfort, though it felt like a trap as he was locked into the embrace. 

Another stir, and lips pressed firmly against the back of Claude’s neck. This was it.

The rush of blood in his ears was louder than the voice that spoke. A deep, rumbling voice that seemed to reverberate in Claude’s chest. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew exactly who spoke them. He saw his face again, that cold disregard for  _ who _ Claude was as he was brutally gored on his lance. Dimitri, who watched him die, now pressed close against the contours of his vulnerable body. There was no escape here, no hope, no plot that could get him out of this.

“You’re crying,” Dimitri murmured, his breath hot against Claude’s ear. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Claude, for once, could find no words. Nothing could get him out of a situation like this, even if he tried. 

Dimitri pulled at Claude’s shoulder, tilting him so he could search his face. Concern etched in his features, visible as Claude’s eyes adjusted to the dark. This wasn’t the Dimitri that had haunted his sleep, this was the  _ true _ Dimitri. The one he slowly allowed himself to love and care for despite his protesting instincts. 

He hadn’t realized he was crying until Dimitri brought it up. He wiped at his cheek in surprise, drying his face as best as he could. “Sorry if I woke you. You should go back to sleep.”   
  
Dimitri sat up, resting his weight on his elbow so he could look down at Claude with worry. “Claude, you’re upset. Allow me to help you as you’ve helped me, okay?”

“Just a bad dream,” Claude made a point of flipping over, pulling his pillow closer. “It’s not important. Nothing to fret over.”   
  
“You were looking for your dagger upon waking up,” Dimitri murmured, letting his hand rest on Claude’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “You haven’t had that in ages. Why now, all of a sudden?”

Claude stared blankly at the wall, unsure what to say. Admitting his feelings like that would take a lot, and it was a dangerous game to play. Though, he knew by now he shouldn’t treat his and Dimitri’s relationship as a game. It wasn’t a game. But he had been playing someone else for so long, he had forgotten who he was. 

Dimitri wasn’t like the people of his past. He wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerabilities or make him feel weak for his flaws. Claude helped Dimitri to become better, it was obvious Dimitri would try to do the same. Even after everything, the earnest prince of their school days still lived within him. 

“It was a nightmare,” Claude repeated, his voice hushed. He couldn’t look at Dimitri, he knew it would give away how he truly felt. “Please, go back to sleep.”

Dimitri, always finding ways of showing off his ridiculous amount of strength, reached over and forced Claude to flip over and face him. Claude snapped his eyes shut, frowning deeply. Dimitri brushed a loose strand of hair out of Claude’s face, tucking it behind his ear. 

“You always told me that talking about the nightmares helped,” Dimitri’s voice was soft, he was clearly careful in choosing his words. “And I can say firsthand that you were right. You shouldn’t have to fight these battles on your own.”

With a heavy sigh, Claude opened his eyes. He searched Dimitri’s face, seeing nothing but pure sincerity. He couldn’t imagine this version of Dimitri ever wanting him hurt, at least not intentionally. This was the real Dimitri. The one he fell madly for. 

“I feel responsible, you know?” Claude finally spoke, his gaze lowering to stare at Dimitri’s lips. “Of course I do. I’m sure you feel the same, as any leader has. It’s stupid.”

He took a minute to think, Dimitri knew not to speak while he did so. He had that particular look on his face, his nose slightly scrunched as he thought hard about his next words. Always careful about what he was going to say next. 

“If you want my complete honesty, Dima,” Claude started, finally meeting his gaze. “I’m terrified of this war.”

“That’s okay.”

Pursed lips, and a quick shake of his head was all Claude could offer. “People want a leader, not a coward. A liar.”

Dimitri stiffened. “You are not a liar. And you are certainly not a coward. You’ve done far more than most others could do in your position. Certainly more than I could, at least.”    
  
“Ah, Dimitri,” Claude gave him a sad smile. “I am. I’ve lost myself in so many identities, I don’t think I’d be able to find the authentic version of myself even if I wanted to. I’ve accepted that, though.”

Running the pad of his thumb across Claude’s cheek, Dimitri tried his best to soothe him. He couldn’t weave words the way Claude could, nor could he provide him the comfort he needed. Just listening was all he could offer, just listening was all Claude needed. 

Finally, Dimitri found his words, though saying them was a bit more awkward than he would’ve liked. Such things were not his strength, but he had to try for Claude’s sake. “I think any piece of you is a piece worth loving,” He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Claude’s forehead. “And I will die trying to uncover each and every one.”

Claude hummed, feeling his chest swell with quiet relief. Dimitri’s presence was a comfort, even despite his initial awkwardness. 

“Khalid,” Dimitri murmured, lips still pressed against his forehead. “You’re safe here. I will make sure no one will harm you as they have in the past, or as they may in the future. Whatever the cost may be.”

Hearing his name spoken with such adoration was enough to ease Claude’s apprehension. Dimitri was the only one who knew his birth name, one he had planned on burying in his past. Though, hearing it in his voice was something different, like only  _ he  _ was allowed to say it. 

Scooting forward, Claude pressed his head against Dimitri’s chest. “Don’t talk like that. We’re making it through this war together.”

It was a little gesture, but it was more than enough to show how Claude felt. Sure, using words was more of Claude’s thing, but the occasional physical display was rather fun. It always amused him to see the King of Faerghus so flustered, especially when it was he who had caused it. Maybe it filled him with a bit of pride. 

There was a moment that hung over them, while Dimitri digested Claude’s words. A moment where, in their wordless melancholy, they were not alone. 

With the covers wrapped tight around their shoulders and their limbs entangled, they were shielded from the sharp pangs of memory that haunted their sleep. Dreamless and gentle, sleep found them easier than usual. Safe in each other’s arms, acting as candles illuminating a path forward. A path that, with the light of a steady flame, burns away doubt and darkness and leads them towards a brighter dawn. 

Hand and hand, leading one another to their respective destinies. Future kings, set to lead their people to auspicious futures, while crushing the malignant forces that threaten such peace under the heels of their boots. A weight on both of their shoulders, the promise of leadership resting on their heads like a crown of thorns digging into their flesh. 

But in this moment, those burdens faded from their minds. Cradled together, the promise of tomorrow was but a simple afterthought. They had the present, and that was all they needed. 

There was security in their embrace, messy hair and limbs locked together like puzzle pieces, desperate to keep each other close. Impossible to break apart, no matter what fate brought upon them. 


	2. ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold. 
> 
> Without the warmth of a flame, with no desire left to fuel it, there was only cold. The kind of cold that, when left alone, would be enough to freeze a heart a hundred times over.
> 
> Wax pooled on the desk, the only sign of a flame ever existing previously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats*
> 
> so........ the tags have been updated. oopsies. (please check before reading this half!)
> 
> the first half can be read separately, this is just a more angsty continuation of it if that makes sense? 
> 
> war is bad man. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Fate calls for the unexpected. 

The first signs of light shone through the bedroom window, casting a cold blue light upon the walls. Winter had set in rather quickly and with it came the familiar chill that hung over the monastery. The stone walls of Garreg Mach did little to maintain what meager heat the occupants could produce. 

Not to mention, Claude wasn’t exactly a fan of the cold. Winters in his homeland didn’t compare to the dreary weather of Fódlan. The sky was dark and overcast, no matter what time of the day, and the morning frost was far from beautiful. Complaining of such things was futile, so he held his tongue, but he knew the others felt the same. 

War was not beautiful, it was not full of heroes like the books had described. He remembered the stories of valor and chivalry he had read when he was a student, but nothing could’ve prepared him for _this._ Seeing his soldiers huddled around pitiful campfires, wrapping their cloaks tightly around them as they nibble on their rations. What was once brimming with life in the summer days, all signs had vanished. 

He remembered the way the soldiers would be rowdy and lively, how they would challenge each other during training to see who was the best of them. He remembered the feasts they would have in celebration of their victories, and how their boisterous laughter filled every corner of the dining hall. It reminded him of home, somehow, that pang of homesickness seemingly growing stronger with every passing day. 

But at that point, he was able to stifle such feelings. He wasn’t alone anymore, he had a _reason_ now. And so, lingering on the corners of the training grounds, he would watch that reason train to his heart's content. 

With every jab and swing of Areadbhar, Claude felt his burdens grow lighter. 

But, of course, whenever things start to go right, fate quickly changes her mind. 

There were days when the voices of the dead were louder than those of the living, including Claude. He was able to see the first moments of such times with well practiced ease, and tried his best to subdue him while he could. More often than not, Dimitri’s stiffened shoulders refused to budge, until he was lashing out like the untamed beast he once was. 

Perhaps “was” wasn’t the correct word. Dimitri never lost that side of him, and truthfully never would. One of Claude’s greatest regrets: that he would never be enough to save him. 

The thought haunted him in the same way Dimitri’s ghosts once had. But instead of everyone who had died at his hands, it was him, it was his _memory._

Some days it was the glimpse of that regal blue cloak, with the finest of furs piled high upon its equally regal wearer. Such elegance and raw power, battered by dirt and dried blood from petty battles. Other days, it was even more painful.

Seeing Dimitri in his youth, dancing in the corner of Claude’s eyes like an ephemeral dream. His gentle, innocent smile, the princeliness of his walk. Even then, he was tormented by the dead, only to hit his breaking point at such a young age. He didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve _this._

Claude ran a hand over his face, bringing him back to the present. He was certainly awake now, but the sun still refused to rise. Not that it was much of a surprise, considering how difficult it was for him to sleep as of late. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt well rested, let alone able to sleep the whole night through.

He knew exactly why, as well. As if he couldn’t, as if the coldness of the space beside him wasn’t enough of a reminder. 

Dimitri was gone, and the emptiness of the bed, as well as his heart, hurt more than the pains of the battlefield. The chill of his absence had frozen his heart, numb to everything but grief. Colder than the biting air that penetrated even the heaviest layers of his clothes, it seemed. 

Claude inched further into the bed, resting where Dimitri once laid. Even though he wasn’t there, he couldn’t help but be comforted by his memory alone. The way his weight pressed into the bed when he would move at night, his sleep disturbed by his ever frequent nightmares. He could almost feel it now, the dip in the mattress as Dimitri shifted closer to him, wrapping him in his arms like he was clinging to Claude for dear life.

Not even Claude could protect him. He should’ve known that, should’ve planned for such a thing. Should have planned for heartbreak.

What was he thinking, letting his heart run wild while his rationality was forcibly shoved aside? Everything he had to protect him as a child, and now as an adult, was tossed aside with an uncharacteristic lack of care. And for what, for the only person who saw Claude’s darkest moments, for him to simply die? It was torture, set upon him for the mistakes and poor decisions of his past. 

Such thoughts plagued him every waking moment, and even in his dreams. There was no freedom from those thoughts, swirling in his mind like a storm about to break at any moment. It was only because of his death that Claude was able to understand what Dimitri had been enduring for countless years. Just that realization was enough to cause a stabbing pain in his chest, not unlike the feeling of a dagger slipping through flesh with unprecedented force. 

The dagger was not the dangerous part of such a wound. It was the removal of it, the pull of the blade that further tore the injury. It was the blood that flowed out, having been freed from the confines of the body, all at the sharpness of a single, small blade. 

Claude was accustomed to such logic. He knew what it felt like to bear such a pain, or to deliver it. It was mundane at this point, the weight of the blade in his hands as he slid it between the rib-cage of a faceless soldier. His cold gaze, emotionless and heavy as the blood soaked into the fabric of his gloves. Sticky, hot, and sickening. 

He pulled the pillow closer, hugging it against his chest. Claude found himself doing such a thing often, pressing his face against the fabric and taking in as deep a breath as he could manage. Desperate to catch the scent he _swears_ still lingers, though he knew it was just based off of his lingering memory. 

It was senseless and irresponsible of him to hang on to the ghosts of his past. No only would that make him the worst sort of hypocrite, but it was impeding his ability to lead. Why did he even bother, at this point? The Empire had already taken so much, and it only hungered for more. When he was younger, Claude assumed that, since his roots were planted firmly outside of Fódlan’s soil, he’d be safe from the hurt of war. As an outsider, it wasn’t like he had a family he felt close with. His family wanted him for his name and his Crest, but he didn’t take it to heart.

He hadn’t exactly anticipated the friendships he made, however, another one of his failures. His judgement had been obscured once they had opened up to him about their problems, their personalities, the complexity behind each and every one of their actions. Soon, when it seemed like the ground beneath his feet had fallen to nothing, he had a whole chain of friends leading _him_ , their leader, to where he was now. It was painfully ironic. 

Faerghus had joined him as well, barely holding itself together from crumbling under the unhinged state of their only prince. Coaxing him out of such a mindset had been a war all in itself, and even Claude couldn’t help him. But, the lengths of clarity grew longer and longer with every exchanged look, the whispered confessions in the quiet of the corridors of Garreg Mach, so painfully similar to their youth. It was like nothing had changed, besides the way Dimitri had towered over him and radiated an unstable mixture of resentment and devotion. 

They had fallen into place together, just like how they used to sleep. Tangled messes of secrets and professions of love, Dimitri and Claude were the only ones who could handle every part of each other. 

And now the puzzle that Claude had accidentally begun to build was missing a crucial piece. The piece that, when the whole picture came together, fit directly where Claude’s heart would rest. 

He took another breath in, drinking in the stale scent of the downy pillow. Feathers poked at his nose, causing him to scrunch his face to try and quell the urge to sneeze. Dimitri’s scent, like him, had disappeared completely. And there was no getting him back.

Claude didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the dampness growing on the pillow. It was embarrassing, but no one could see him. Even if they did, he wouldn’t care. For once, he felt as though he had earned the right to wallow in his sorrows, to let the years of swallowed guilt and misery finally find their release.

He curled in where Dimitri’s warmth once emanated from, a childish comfort, but a comfort all the same. 

Maybe the ghost of Dimitri that watched from the corner would laugh at him, looking at him like he was a pitiful disgrace of a leader, a wasted effort, an unnecessary reason to die for. Claude knew such a thing was right, that he’d never have Dimitri’s strength or the hardness in his gaze to simply run down those who opposed him. Claude was a coward, his life being continuously handed to him on a silver platter. 

Even as the sky brightened with the start of the day, he couldn’t find the strength to rise out of bed. Why couldn’t he snivel in his room for the rest of his days, left alone and forgotten?

And for a long moment, he considered it. He considered locking the door and staying firmly engulfed in the mountain of blankets and furs that he once shared, refusing to budge until someone was forced to burn the whole building down. It wouldn’t come to that, he knew. 

He sat up from the bed, staying seated on the edge as he held his face in his hands. Dimitri didn’t die for him to mill about in their bedroom for days on end. He died so the Alliance--and Faerghus too, at this point--would still have a leader. So that his friends would have someone to look to for guidance, so that Claude could bring about the peace the prince had yearned for at such a young age. Even when everyone chided him for such adolescent ideals, Dimitri still held onto his dreams with the tight fist of a promising leader. 

Claude remembered the nights of the monastery where the two would talk for hours under the starlight. Both had revealed parts of themselves that no one else could ever dream of seeing, finding comfort in their similarities and differences. Honesty like that was tortuous for Claude, but the pain in the moment was nothing compared to the victories it had brought him later. Dimitri’s trust, at first, and then _love_ , and then devotion, and then--

Well. Then it had ended. 

Just like that, he was brought harshly back to the present. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized he was getting dressed, his body running on autopilot. The small voice inside him didn’t know why he bothered, trying to pretend he was the big tough leader Dimitri used to be. He knew under the padding of his clothes (which were definitely there to make him appear bigger than he was), Claude was just a fragile marionette for whatever god or goddess that wanted him punished. 

Still, the strings pulled him towards the door of his room. He ran a hand through his hair once again, tilting his head to glance once more at the specter that lingered at the edges of his gaze. Young, happy Dimitri, with his princely smile and brilliantly blue eyes, offering him nothing but a reason to walk out the door. 

Had he watched him a moment longer, he would’ve seen the way Dimitri’s face twisted with sadness, the kind of sadness that would have broken Claude once and for all. The kind of sadness that wasn’t for himself, but for the man in question, the guilt of causing so much pain on the one he so desperately wanted to love and nurture. No one could nurture him now, not at this point.

Claude put on the smile everyone expected him to wear. The kind of smile that never met his eyes, that distracted everyone from the apathetic stare in his dulled green eyes. What once glittered with mischief had now grown cloudy with vindictiveness, betraying his new desire for revenge.

Claude once loathed the idea of killing, even in battle. But now, with the ever-present heartache in his chest, he was willing to become an even more monstrous beast than Dimitri had been forced to become. Even Edelgard wouldn’t be able to compare herself to what Claude was willing to turn himself into.

If Dimitri died as a so-called monster, then Claude would lead his armies as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, if you've read this far, then thank you! i really enjoyed writing this, and getting my feelings abt claude all out of my system, if it wasn't completely obvious :,3
> 
> thank you for all the nice comments from last chapter!! hopefully this one doesn't disappoint, though it's not exactly a happy ending
> 
> kudos/comments help tremendously!! find me @ rosesapphire.tumblr.com!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading up to this point! part two will be out soon, but its going to be a sort of alternate ending, probably really short as well
> 
> kudos/comments help out tremendously!! thank u for reading, have a good day/night :3
> 
> find me on tumblr @ rosesapphire.tumblr.com


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